“That’s crap!” Bradford balked with righteous indignation. “You came in here under false pretenses. You lied to me. That’s police entrapment.”
“I’m not ‘police,’ Tommy,” she pointed out. “I’m just a gal you invited into your home before telling her that she might not be safe here.”
Bradford’s face sank.
“Now if you like,” she continued, “Detective Goodwin here can take you down to the police station where you’ll be booked on whatever charges seem most appropriate. I’m thinking false imprisonment might be a good start. Or…”
“Or what?” Bradford asked anxiously.
“Or the detective can read you your rights, after which you can answer our questions honestly. If we’re satisfied with them, then the worst you’ll have to deal with is some broken door hinges. Otherwise you can refuse and we’ll let you put on a sweater.”
“A sweater?” Bradford asked, confused. “Why?”
“Because it’s 3:30 right now,” Sam informed him, picking up on Jessie’s lead, “and we won’t be able to get you in front of a judge before the end of business today. That means you’ll be spending the night in the holding cell back at Central Police Station, which can get really chilly.”
“Also,” Jessie added, “there might be some minorities in there with you and if they think you killed two women because of their immigration status, they might not be the friendliest to you.”
“But I didn’t do anything!” Bradford objected.
“Prove it,” Jessie said.
“How?”
“Like I said before, Detective Goodwin reads you your rights. Then you agree to answer our questions. You don’t have to, of course. But if you really aren’t involved in these killings, being forthright would go a long way to convincing us.”
Bradford scowled at her. But even before he responded, she knew he would agree. The guy might be a murderer or he might not be. But the idea of being put in a cell, possibly with dark-skinned people, was clearly off-putting to him.
“Fine,” he muttered.
Sam didn’t waste any time in giving him the Miranda warning. Once he was done, Jessie pointed to the small loveseat in the corner. “Have a seat, Tommy.”
He trudged over and plopped down on the seat like a petulant toddler.
Jessie grabbed one of the two chairs from the card table that comprised Bradford’s dining room and sat down opposite him.
“Now, when we spoke earlier and you said you didn’t know about the murders, you were lying, right?”
“Of course,” he said belligerently. “Like you said, the news is everywhere. When someone takes heroic action like that, I’m going to notice.”
“Nice,” Jessie refused to let him get a rise out of her by responding to that. “So you’re saying that it wasn’t you.”
“I could only wish.”
“Really?” Sam asked him sharply.
“What, is it illegal for me to express my opinion now?”
“So you endorse violence then?” Jessie said.
“I don’t engage in violence” he countered. “I don’t suggest violence. But do I embrace it after the fact? Sure. You wanted me to be honest right?”
“I did,” Jessie acknowledged.
“But just to be clear,” Bradford added, “My group, Traditional Citizenry, is an advocacy organization. Our goal is to persuade people of the nobility of our cause. We want to change hearts and minds. We don’t use violence. That kind of thing tends to backfire and actually create sympathy for the invaders.”
Jessie had several comebacks for that comment but swallowed them before they got out. She needed to stay focused.
“Is that why you harassed the Tanakas online?”
